Before the latter could rise, Frank grappled with him. Quickly reversing his revolver, he brought the butt of the weapon down in the direction in which he judged the man’s head to be. It struck something soft, and a guttural howl of pain went up.

“A spy!” Frank found time to think to himself.

But he had not struck the man’s head, only a hand which had been outstretched, and before he could draw his pocket searchlight to ascertain what damage he had done, the lad felt a pair of arms about his neck, and a hand seeking to entwine itself in his throat.

His revolver he found now to be of no use, so he dropped it and struck out blindly with his bare fists. Once, twice, his fists found their mark, and each time a blow went home the lad was rewarded by hearing cries of pain from his opponent.

As the two strug. . . Read More